Second Thoughts: an epilogue to Love and Guns
by EvergreenDreamweaver
Summary: This is an epilogue to the episode "Love and Guns".


Disclaimer: I do not own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was originally written in the late 1990s, so technology is not at a 2017 level. Please pardon that fact.

Second Thoughts **:** An epilogue to 'Love and Guns'

By

EvergreenDreamweaver

Jim Ellison closed the door behind the departing ATF Agent Drennan without a great deal of remorse. The woman could be enjoyable company; they'd had a good time teasing and laughing over their Chinese dinner – but Jim's pleasure had been muted by the silent, hurting presence of his partner and roommate in his little bedroom beneath the stairs. Drennan had sensed his mood – she'd suggested the early end to the evening herself, insisting that her wounded shoulder was bothering her, and she needed to get some rest. She'd given Jim her telephone number, and kissed him goodnight – but both of them knew that future get-togethers weren't very likely. He was instinctively distrustful of federal agents, with good reason; she tended to throw her authority around; they both were independent and used to taking charge. One dinner date had been okay, but it wouldn't have been a good match for a relationship.

But now Jim had other, more pressing things on his mind. Although the first critical 24 hours had passed since Blair had been concussed – knocked unconscious _twice_ in less than an hour – Ellison wasn't leaving anything to chance where his partner's health was concerned. He fully intended to keep a close eye on Sandburg until he was absolutely sure he was fully recovered, whether the grad student liked it or not.

He sighed softly as he approached the curtained doorway to Blair's room. He could check the purely physical aspects; no problem there, even if Sandburg did insist that he was fine. But Blair wasn't just hurting because of the head injury and the various other abuses he'd endured at the hands of the sadistic Vargas; he was suffering from emotional trauma as well – thanks to Maya Carasco's brief visit and subsequent departure earlier in the evening. _Hell, Ellison, stop blaming Maya for it,_ he berated himself grimly, _it was your scheme that he get close to her and find out about her father's activities. He'd never have even met the girl if not for your brilliant idea! He went against his own rules, getting involved with a student – for_ _you_ _. And now he's paying for it with a broken heart as well as physical hurts._

Ellison scowled in thought, mentally cataloging his roommate's injuries, then abruptly bypassed Blair's room and headed for the bathroom, where he rummaged through various drawers until he found what he sought. Feeling triumphant, he went back to the entrance to Sandburg's little room and knocked lightly on the wall. "Sandburg? You awake?"

Only silence met his inquiry, but the detective gently parted the curtains and looked in anyway. His enhanced vision easily cut through the gloom of the unlighted room, and he focused in on Blair's quiet figure lying on the futon.

"Chief?"

Slowly, Blair turned his head a little. "Yeah?" His voice was gravelly, and the Sentinel's heightened hearing easily picked up the choked sound indicating tightly repressed emotion. "What is it?"

"I have something that might help your lip," Jim offered, entering the room and holding out a small bottle. "I just remembered I had it – it's liquid Lidocaine. Topical anesthetic. It would have been better if I'd found it last night, I know, but better late than never, and all that...And I wanted to check your eyes again..." He let his voice trail off, almost wishing he hadn't intruded He saw Blair's hands clenched into fists at his sides, caught the whiff of salt from tears, and knew that the other man only wanted to be left alone to mourn his loss and wounded feelings in solitude. But that wasn't what he _needed_ , Jim assured himself. He needed tending, and he needed...well, he needed _something_ , and Jim hoped he could provide it...whatever _it_ was.

Blair blinked and raised himself on his elbows, intrigued in spite of himself. "How in the heck did you get something like that?" he asked curiously. Liquid Lidocaine wasn't exactly standard in peoples' medicine cabinets.

"You think you're the only person to ever come home with a split lip?" the Sentinel gibed gently. "A doctor gave it to me awhile back, and I hung onto it." He seated himself carefully on the edge of the bed. "Let's have a look."

Sighing, the younger man complied, switching on the bedside lamp and settling back on the bed. He closed his eyes.

"I'll want to check your eyes in a minute," Ellison reminded him, and carefully tilted his roommate's head to the side to examine his lip. After a few seconds of close scrutiny, Jim released Blair with a little pat to one cheek, then set about soaking a cotton-tipped swab with the numbing liquid and gently applied it to the gash in the younger man's lower lip. Blair inhaled sharply at the momentary sting, but remained motionless, and after a few seconds, relaxed.

"Don't lick your lips, or you'll turn your tongue numb," Jim counseled, grinning a little as he dabbed at the abraded corners of Blair's mouth, where Vargas' gag had cut in. "And don't talk; hold still," he added as Sandburg started to reply.

"Mmmmm-mmm-MMMMM!" came an indignant-sounding mumble.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever..." Satisfied with his job, Ellison re-capped the bottle and tossed the cotton swab in the trash. "Let's see the eyes."

Defiantly, Sandburg shook his head and screwed his eyelids tightly shut. "G'way," he mumbled. "'M awri'."

"Don't be a jackass," the Sentinel commanded. "Open 'em."

Unwilling, but unable to work up much resistance, Blair cracked open one eye a few millimeters.

Shaking his head, Jim gently peeled it back to get a good look at the pupil beneath. "You're just making it harder on yourself," he murmured. He waited patiently until Blair silently admitted defeat and blinked both eyes open. "Thank you." He made no comment on the watery, red-rimmed condition of his partner's eyes, simply examined them keenly, then reached for the other item he'd brought in: a washcloth that had been soaked in ice water. "Laying this over your eyes might help the headache," he suggested, suiting action to words.

"How'd you know...?" Blair decided he was allowed to talk now.

"Give me a break, Sandburg; this isn't the first concussion I've ever dealt with – and you think I can't tell when you have a headache? Believe me – I can."

"Mmm-hmmm," Blair conceded tiredly, and let himself relax into the soothing coolness against his brow. He had told himself he wanted to be left alone to wallow in his misery...but when Jim wanted to turn on the sympathy and charm, he could be very endearing...and very persistent...and it _was_ kind of nice to be cosseted and looked after...and that Lidocaine stuff actually _worked_..."Jim? Agent Dren'n?"

"She left, Chief; her shoulder was bothering her and she wanted to rest," Ellison said easily.

"Sorry..."

"Not your fault; like I said, she was tired. Don't worry, we had a nice dinner and parted amicably," Jim smirked.

"'kay."

"We left you some noodles and stuff..." Ellison sounded more hesitant now.

"Not hungry, thanks anyway." Blair turned his face away, his features twisting in distress as he recalled _why_ he was so not-hungry.

"I know it's hard to eat with your mouth cut up," Jim carefully disregarded the real reason for his friend's lack of appetite, "but you'd probably feel a little better with something in your stomach, Chief."

Blair's only response was a tiny shrug.

"Would you..." Jim stopped, then proceeded with considerable effort; this was difficult for the usually taciturn man. Ordinarily he didn't have to _ask_ for Sandburg's company; the young man was always around, whether Jim wanted him there or not. "If you felt up to it, I mean...I – wouldn't mind – some company for awhile..."

That request was so unusual it momentarily shocked Blair out of his funk. He turned around and sat up. "Really?" The downcast expression returned. "But...'m not very good company right now."

"I'm not asking you to do a comedy routine," Ellison said dryly. "Come on, maybe we can catch the last part of the Mariners' game on television."

Wisely, the detective did not press the issue of Blair eating dinner leftovers; he merely made sure Sandburg was comfortably settled on the sofa with the cold cloth draped over his eyes before he went into the kitchen to retrieve a beer from the refrigerator. "You want anything to drink? Beer's probably not a good idea, but I'd make you some tea, if you want."

"You'd make tea?" Sandburg raised his head and lifted one corner of the washcloth to stare incredulously at his roommate; upon seeing Jim's scowl he hastily lowered it again and lay back down. "Um...sure, tea would be really nice. Thanks." He was touched by Ellison's gesture, and glad of the concealment the cloth gave him; tears were still way too close right now, and the gentle concern the simple offer of a cup of tea revealed...well, Jim didn't need to see him acting even more of a wuss than he already had.

A few minutes passed before the sounds of Jim setting down coasters, a cup, and his own bottle of beer on the coffee table impinged on Sandburg's consciousness. Gingerly, he pushed himself up and removed the cloth again. "Thanks." He sipped cautiously at the hot beverage and smiled. "'s good."

Ellison just gave a noncommittal grunt as he settled into his own place on the loveseat and picked up the remote. Television commentators' remarks and the crack of bats and shouts of the crowd filled the loft, and they watched the last two innings of the baseball game in companionable silence. When it ended, Jim clicked the TV off and leaned back, to all appearances comfortably at ease.

Blair almost hated to admit it, human nature being what it is, but he actually did feel better – a little better, anyhow. The medication had soothed his painful mouth, the tea had warmed his stomach, the game had taken his mind temporarily off his woes...and the quiet companionship of his partner had worked like a healing balm on his distressed soul and aching heart. But he knew he had some apologizing to do. Blair sighed softly. _Might as well get it over with._ "Jim?" he ventured softly.

"Hmmm?"

"How badly did I screw things up?"

Ellison looked up from his perusal of the television guide. "Huh? You didn't."

"Oh, come on," Blair said miserably, "I know better than that. I—"

"You probably shouldn't have gone to Carasco's house," Jim conceded, "but you didn't realize quite what you were walking into – at least I hope you didn't! And aside from that little mis—"

"Aside from that 'little mistake'," Blair interrupted in his turn, jerking himself to a sitting position, "which made you have to go out there to rescue me, which took you away from your job of capturing Hector Carasco, thus making you look bad in Simon's eyes and the Feds' eyes; as if I hadn't done enough already—"

"Hey, hey, slow down. Take it easy." Now Ellison was becoming worried. He moved from the loveseat to sit next to Blair and rub a comforting hand up and down the younger man's arm. "Know what? The Feds care about end results. As long as Carasco and his men were captured, they don't really give a damn about how we got him. And I don't look bad in Simon's eyes – at least, no worse than usual," he qualified with a small, quirky smile. "Drennan was sorry about what happened to you; there weren't any hard feelings on her part."

Blair nodded silently, his sudden spate of self-castigation seemingly dried up, although he still looked very unhappy. He slowly lay back down, leaving the cold cloth on the floor where it had fallen.

Jim continued the soothing massage, silently willing his partner to relax.

"Maya's going back to Chile," Blair mumbled after a few moments, not opening his eyes.

"I know."

"She said she hated me, Jim."

Ellison winced at the unalloyed pain in his friend's voice.

"I told her I loved her..." Blair seemed intent on getting it all out, now that he'd started. "And she said she loved me – but that she hated me, too.'"

"I'm sorry, Chief."

"I think – no, I know – she thinks I betrayed her...and especially after the dinner she made for me too, and the pastry, and she offered...she wanted..."

All this was news to Ellison. "I didn't know she'd made you dinner. And what pastry...and what offer?"

Sandburg flushed with embarrassment. "Um...a special pastry her mother had made for her father. It was almost like a – a wedding cake. And she offered...um, you know...to...herself. .Said I'd be her first..."

Jim's eyebrows elevated sharply. "You didn't take her up on it?" He held his breath, awaiting the reply.

Blair scowled resentfully. "Not that it's exactly your business, Jim, but...no. It didn't seem...right. I couldn't do something like that, knowing...well, I just couldn't."

"Thank God!"

Blair looked at him. "Why do you care so much?" he asked bitterly. "What difference does it make to you?"

Ellison shook his head and exhaled a long breath of relief. "Chief...you're not firin' on all cylinders, here. Think about this a minute. Carasco grows orchids – and his one and only daughter is like the rarest flower he has – right?"

"I suppose,: Blair said dully.

"And you know – or can imagine – how fathers feel about their daughters – their very young, beautiful, virginal daughters – right? How protective they are of them?"

Blair started to nod, paused for a moment to think, and raised startled blue eyes to Jim's. Horrified realization was beginning to dawn. "Yeah," he muttered.

"And how a South American father who happens to be a gun runner and killer, with no qualms about 'eliminating' problems might react if he found out that his daughter had been—"

"You can stop now," Sandburg rasped. He had gone very pale.

"Even though she initiated it," Jim continued inexorably. "We might have found your body like Sal's, hacked to death and dismembered with a machete – if Carasco was merely out to exact retribution. If he wanted to make a point, and leave you alive but ensure you never forgot, you might not have been executed, but you'd have spent the rest of your life with some body parts missing. Parts most of us consider fairly essential."

"Jim, enough, you're makin' me sick, here—"

"If Maya had pleaded for you and Hector was feeling particularly benevolent, I suspect you'd have found yourself in Chile in a day or two. Married. As a son-in-law, you would either have been absorbed into the organization, and Carasco would have enjoyed the irony of having a former police observer working for him, or, you would have been kept in blissful ignorance for a few months – maybe a year at the most. And then there would have been another 'unfortunate accident,' like Maya's mother had, leaving Maya a rich, beautiful young widow."

"Jim, if you don't shut up right now, I swear I'm gonna puke!"

The detective glanced swiftly at his roommate and decided this wasn't just Sandburg hyperbole. Blair was greenish-white and beads of sweat had popped out on his brow. His eyes were closed, and he was swallowing repeatedly.

"Okay, okay. Shutting up. Shh, relax , it's okay. Relax." He picked up the fallen damp washcloth and gently wiped Blair's pallid face. "Lie down again."

"I didn't think – I never thought about..."

"I know you didn't, pal. Neither did I." Ellison pushed Sandburg back to a reclining position, refolded the washcloth and placed it on his forehead. "No wonder she called me when Vargas caught you, and then was trying to get you loose," he added thoughtfully. _And no wonder she's so angry with you now,_ he added mentally. He doubted whether Maya Carasco would ever forgive Sandburg, not completely. Her ego had taken a severe jolt. Implied interest followed by rejection – followed by the knowledge that he'd been doing a job when he made her acquaintance. She had a right to be mad. She'd acted with surprising mercy to call Jim when she did, and the fact that she'd told Sandburg she loved him still...at least nominally...said nice things about her. Jim unwillingly found himself trying to give Maya the benefit of the doubt.

"I guess it's a...good thing...that she's leaving for Chile," Sandburg admitted gloomily.

 _You can say that again, Chief._ "Afraid so. Even in prison, Hector Carasco has a long arm, and if he thought you'd done his little girl wrong..."

"Hey...let's not go there, okay?"

"Okay." Ellison regarded him thoughtfully. Blair still looked miserable, was still pale and queasy-looking, "You all right?"

"Been better." Blair sighed and then forced a wan smile. "I suppose I'd better face up to it. Me and Maya...it wouldn't have worked – would it?"

"Chief, both of us know better than to say something's too far out there to ever happen – we've seen too much unlikely stuff...but my best judgment says no – it wouldn't have worked."

"I'll keep telling myself that. But it still...hurts, ya know?" Abruptly, Blair yawned hugely, then shivered. "I guess I'm kind of tired," he admitted.

"Time for bed," Jim decreed. "And tonight I won't wake you up every couple of hours for neuro checks." He rose and extended a hand to tug Sandburg to his feet, then impulsively pulled him into a cautiously gentle hug, mindful of his roommate's various aches and pains. Blair stiffened momentarily, surprised, then sighed and relaxed into the embrace, wrapping his arms about the Sentinel's waist.

"Thank you," he whispered against Jim's shoulder. "You helped – a lot." A muffled chuckle reached Jim's ears. "When you weren't making me want to barf, that is."

"You're welcome, Chief. Sorry about that." Ellison responded softly. _Sorry about getting you involved...sorry about getting you hurt, nearly killed...sorry about your broken heart...I hope you can forgive me, Blair._ "And thank you,"


End file.
